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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376246">I Can Hear the Children Calling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster'>AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kanó- and Nelyo and -Káno [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A treatise on monstrosity I suppose, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Mae's grasp on reality isn't very strong, Misunderstandings, Poor Maedhros, Sirion, the instantiation of kidnap dads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:59:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Elwing falls.  The children cry.  Maedhros and Maglor try to protect them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kanó- and Nelyo and -Káno [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995166</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Can Hear the Children Calling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from Shower Day by The Amazing Devil</p>
<p>with thanks to probably lots of people incl basaltserpent moiety annataryx</p>
<p>all y'all are great</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">So they have come, those bastards.She can hear the screaming, and it is so—<em>distracting</em>.As is the way her mind keeps slipping sideways out of her grasp.She’ll blink, and then she’ll hear the screams, faintly, and she’ll see the terrified faces of the boys in blue—but they are not <em>her</em> boys, they are the others.The lost ones.</p>
<p class="p1">She has her sword belted at her side, and somehow she has made it to her boys, her little ones.Elros and Elrond are sitting up in their crib, their dark heads mussed with sleep, and Elwing kisses them both and whispers to them to be brave, to be quiet, to be like little mice.She is crying, she knows, but she knows how to cry quietly as well.It’s good, really, that Eärendil isn’t here.He won’t die with her.</p>
<p class="p1">She has her night-light with her—she would give it to the twins, but she knows it will not keep them safe.It will not keep her safe, either, but it will keep her courageous.She scoops them up and carries them, one on each hip, peering down the corridor as she wracks her brain to think of a place to hide them.</p>
<p class="p1">When the screams and sound of sword on swords move nearer, she knows she is out of time.She throws open the door of the nearest room, and thank god there is an old oaken wardrobe there.“Remember, my little ones, you must be <em>silent</em>,” she whispers to the boys in her arms, even though she can smell the crisp scent of autumn all around her, feel the wind on her face, see the leaves falling—hear the screams.</p>
<p class="p1">The twins nod and hold tight to each other.Elwing kisses them again and shuts the heavy oaken door of the wardrobe.She hefts her sword.She can hear song, rippling to her from past and present—not future, she thinks dreamily, because there is no future but only the grey blurred mist and the sound of her nightmare growing closer.</p>
<p class="p1">The door opens.She expected to see the red-haired one, his sword raised high, but it is not him.It is the black-haired one instead.The one who kills with his voice, who leaves his victims stunned and bleeding from eyes and nose and mouth.Elwing cannot stop the trembling of her hands as she raises her nightlight high.</p>
<p class="p1">“Is this what you have come for, Kinslayer?” she demands, raising her chin even as she backs away.His eyes follow her.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes,” he says after a moment.There is a smear of blood across his cheek, so perhaps he does not always remain so distant from those he murders.“Please…” he whispers, in such a heartwrenching tone of voice that she almost listens, almost lets that sweet cadence lull her towards disaster.</p>
<p class="p1">Hastily, she scrambles up onto the windowsill, holding out the nightlight like a bone towards a rabid dog.She is afraid, she is so afraid—she hears the screams and the baying of dogs.Will the silver-haired one come, shining like a blinding star, will he cut down her father so that he lies in his own blood before the throne?No—no, Elwing thinks, her father is dead.Her father is long dead.But she must protect the twins.</p>
<p class="p1">“Then come, Kinslayer, <em>claim</em> thy bloody prize!” Elwing cries.She hears the sea thundering behind her.The sea—the sea.What the sea takes, the sea will keep: so sang her mother when she was very young.She hopes that it is true as she steps out backwards onto nothing, the eyes of the black-haired madman still locked to her, his hand outstretched.</p>
<p class="p1">As she hangs in the air, too late to arrest her fall, the briefest final moment between life and death, she hears one of the twins cry out, “<em>Ammë</em>!” and the eyes of the Kinslayer turn towards the wardrobe.</p>
<p class="p1">Elwing howls wordlessly as the wind takes her.She cannot reach them.She cannot save them.The bright light of her nightlight was not enough.</p><hr/>
<p class="p1">Maglor is weary beyond belief.He can feel the drying blood of the Ambarussar on his cheek.They looked very peaceful, the twins, crumpled side by side on the staircase, dead of matching sword wounds in their breasts.At least they are not suffering now.Maglor wonders if he envies them.When he closed their eyes, they could almost have been sleeping.</p>
<p class="p1">He should never have come here.He should never have let them come here.But Maedhros would not be dissuaded.And Maglor’s hands are so stained in blood over and over again.How could he have stopped them?</p>
<p class="p1">Maedhros could not stop them at Doriath.And Maglor has not stopped them at Sirion.</p>
<p class="p1">The girl disappears.With her, Maglor’s last hope.<em>Please</em>.Just let it be over.Let the Oath be fulfilled, if even a little.But it never will be, and despite the best attempts of the defenders of Sirion, Maglor still lives.</p>
<p class="p1">He hears a cry from inside the great dark wooden wardrobe and turns, his hand on his sword, as he wrenches it open, then nearly drops it.There are two little boys inside, dressed in blue nightgowns, clutching at each other.So like one another—dark hair and dark eyes but <em>so like</em>—</p>
<p class="p1">“<em>Maglor</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">Maedhros’s voice, hoarse—filled with bloodlust.Maglor whirls, drawing his sword and half-stepping in front of the wardrobe.The babies.<em>Children</em>.His mind puts two and two together—the agonized look on the girl’s face as she fell.Elwing’s children.Surely she is too young…?But they must be hers.What will Maedhros do to them?</p>
<p class="p1">Maedhros’s thin face is hollow, his eyes black and blank.He reaches for his own sword.</p>
<p class="p1">No.This time, Maglor will not stand aside.It’s too late for redemption, too late for forgiveness, too late for anything but to make his death mean something.He raises his sword.</p><hr/>
<p class="p1">The twins.</p>
<p class="p1">He’s found them.Black hair and blue nightgowns.He thinks he has been searching for such a long time.But between him and the two little ones stands Maglor, his bloody sword drawn from its sheathe.His pupils are constricted.</p>
<p class="p1">No.<em>No.I knew we would lose our souls at Doriath.</em>“Káno,” Maedhros whispers, beneath his breath.His vision is blurry with sweat or tears.But he has found the twins.He must protect them.</p>
<p class="p1">He attacks.</p>
<p class="p1">Maglor parries.The sound of steel on steel rings throughout the forest glen.Fog rises around them both.Maglor’s breathing is harsh and rough, and his eyes are wild.They are both lost, Maedhros thinks; they have both been lost for so long.Maglor believed if they spoke finely enough here, the boy king would heed their suit.Maedhros knew that if they saw the jewel again, mere words would never be enough, and he was right.There is blood on his brother and blood on his hands.</p>
<p class="p1">You put down a rabid dog, don’t you?Is that what they should have done?And yet he can still feel the shining white call of his father’s jewels, the whispering promise that <em>if you can but touch us, all will be forgiven</em>—and he knows it isn’t true, but it will not leave him be—</p>
<p class="p1">He tries a powerful overhand attack, but Maglor is smart enough to slip aside and turn inwards for his own attack.A move that Maitimo taught him.For an instant, he <em>is</em> Maitimo, and he is only sparring with Makalaurë, across the training grounds in Valinor, while little Tyelko whistles and shrieks encouragement, and then he is here, and there is blood upon dark stone—<em>Sirion</em>, he remembers, Sirion, not Doriath—and yet the twins are here?</p>
<p class="p1">One of the twins cries out softly, in fear—of both of them, Maedhros has no doubt, two tall blood-covered Elves fighting in grim silence—and Maglor hears the sound and half turns.Taking advantage of the momentary lapse, Maedhros presses his advantage and strikes again, another heavy blow that this time Maglor cannot be prepared for.</p>
<p class="p1">He is not.Maglor’s eyes widen as he turns into the next blow, and there is no time for him to slip aside.To Maedhros’s surprise, he doesn’t even try, electing to keep his body between Maedhros and the crying children behind him.He catches Maedhros’s blade on his own.</p>
<p class="p1">Maedhros is taller and heavier and far stronger than his younger brother.His drives easily through his guard and the slice of the sword is only slowed.It strikes Maglor’s collarbone with a heavy, unpleasant noise, and Maglor crumples with a soft cry, falling to the ground with blood leaking from the injury.Behind him, the twins are crying louder, their wails growing in pitch.Maedhros holds the point of his sword at his little brother’s throat, and there is no fear in those dark eyes, only a blank numb loss and pain.Maglor puts a hand against his own injury, his mouth working, but for once he is silent.Maedhros reaches out to grab his sword and yank it away, sends it flying across the chamber to clang against the wall.</p>
<p class="p1">A muscle twitches in Maglor’s jaw, and he drags himself upright even still, staring pleadingly at Maedhros as he places himself, once again, between Maedhros and the two children.</p>
<p class="p1">And it is only <em>then</em> that Maedhros understands, that he looks from his brother’s terrified face to the terrified faces of the children behind him.There is only <em>one</em> monster here, and it is not Maglor.It was never Maglor.</p>
<p class="p1">That—affords him a little relief, as he stoops quickly at his brother’s side.“I will leave you,” he says hoarsely.“I only—“ He cannot explain, cursed as he is.“I am sorry.”He rips a strip of cloth off his cloak and quickly binds up the wound, which thankfully is more bruise than gash, not deep, not a break.“There,” he murmurs.He looks at the little ones.He will only frighten them more.“You are safe with Maglor,” he tells them.“Don’t fear.”</p>
<p class="p1">Maglor looks up at Maedhros, and he goes white, his mouth opening, clearly terrified of Maedhros’s proximity.“Nelyo—” he croaks.</p>
<p class="p1">“Keep them safe,” Maedhros tells him brusquely, turns on his heel, and leaves the room.</p>
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